


Bloodlines

by liquid_dreams



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Gen, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-09
Updated: 2016-05-09
Packaged: 2018-06-07 10:10:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6799570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liquid_dreams/pseuds/liquid_dreams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce loses a distant cousin and gains an unexpected ally. Not a bad deal, or is it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bloodlines

**Author's Note:**

> This is what happens when my brain goes "Wait! What if Batman had TWO adorable murderbaby sidekicks?!" Add to that a little Hellsing and voilá.

A small town in Northeastern France, 1439

The clatter of hooves disturbed the silence of the night. Candles lit up in the small huts lining a dusty street as hounds started barking. Six riders stopped in front of a wooden house, which stood slightly apart from the rest, and their leader, a tall man wearing an expansive embroidered cloak descended from his great black stallion. His ink black hair was tied back, exposing a strong jaw and stern patrician profile. His eyes were blue like ice on a bright winter's day, and just as cold. He strode purposefully towards the door of the hut and rapped on the splitering wood. There was shuffling inside and a woman opened. Her amber eyes were fearful and her dusty clothes looked like she'd quickly thrown them on moments before. 

"I know you have it." The man growled without preamble, "I am here to collect what is rightfully mine."

"Please, Milord." Panic appeared on her pretty face. She threw a quick glance into the hut behind her. "I beg of you! She is all I have!"

The noble's eyes narrowed dangerously. At a wink of his gloved hand, the other five riders descended from their horses. They were a rough, mean looking bunch, armed with swords and daggers. The woman's eyes began to tear up and her lower lip trembled. At first, it seemed like the noble's eyes were softening, but a baby's cry made his sharp eyes snap past her. 

"I have no time to waste with your foolishness," he said sternly, "But I am kind. Hand it over and you shall never see me again, and I will even leave you with a certain sum for your.. troubles."

"Please, no! My daughter is innocent! She is but a babe!" She cried and refused to move when he advanced on her.

"Your daughter bears the mark of the damned!" The noble hissed with sudden fury and shot a quick glare at the elderly couple peeking out of the neighbouring hut. They retreated hastily, but it was clear that they were causing a scene. The noble felt his patience reach an end when she shook her head with a hint of brave stubbornness.

"You leave me no choice. Out of my way!" He shoved her to the side and strode into the hut despite her shrill protests. 

A lone candle was the only source of light and he scanned the sparse contents of the house. Bundles of dried herbs hung on the walls, strange symbols had been painted on the table and a cat's skull sat in the centre of a pentagram drawn by a shaking hand. Just as he'd suspected. The hut was filthy and smelled faintly of urine. He narrowed his eyes and glanced around until he saw a small bundle on a pile of hay in the corner. It moved and a tiny hand grasped in the air as if to seize it. 

"No!" The woman wailed and two of the burly men restrained her as the noble picked up the babe. 

Two small, ice blue eyes stared unflinchingly back at him. He regarded the tiny creature curiously, as it seemed to do the same. Wisps of black hair were on its head and tiny hands balled to fists, but it did not look away and it did not cry. Stubborn, he thought with soft wonder. Then his eyes caught the tiny but unmistakeable mark on its neck, nearly hidden by the grey cloth it was wrapped in. A small black drop, about the size of the nail of his pinky. His eyes flashed bright with realization. Upon seeing it, the child started giggling. He tucked the cloth around it with a sense of grim determination and looked at the weeping woman. She must've been beautiful and alive before the pregnancy. It seemed it drained her of all the color and laughter she once held. Her cheeks were pale and sunken, her golden hair flat and lifeless and her body a nearly skeletal frame. 

"You should not have resisted, woman." He said gravely, "Creatures like this bring nothing but ruin upon you."

"That's not true!" She wailed, a desperate, frantic light in her eyes and struggled against his men.

"Oh, but it is. I should know."

"What now, milord?" One of the men grunted with a leer at the shoulder that had gotten exposed during her struggle. 

The noble tore his eyes away from the woman. He let his eyes sweep over the bare dozen of huts and their curious, dirty inhabitants. Then, he shifted the child on his arm and swung back up on his great stallion with one smooth movement. 

"We ride."

His men murmured rebelliously, but one dark glare from him silenced them. They got back on their mounts with merely a few quiet curses. The woman fell to her knees before the noble's mount and wept.

"Do not take her, milord! Please! Please, I love this child with all my heart!" 

"I assure you," his voice was cold and cutting like a knife, "She will be taken care of."

Then, he spurred his stallion into motion and led his party out of the village, leaving nothing but a wake of dust and the sobbing woman. Little did the villagers know, they were only spared because he knew that the French armies would advance upon the village the next day, leaving no soul alive.

 

Gotham, nowadays, 6:12 pm

"Sir, you have a call." 

A grunt. "I don't have time. Tell them to call back."

"I'm afraid they were quite adamant about their need to speak with you." Alfred's polite voice had a reproachful edge, which annoyed Batman enough to remove his cowl and gesture for the phone in his aging Butler's hands. 

"Bruce Wayne speaking," he said with his smooth socialite voice. 

"Good Morning, Mr. Wayne," said polite voice with a heavy British accent, "My name is Edgar Conrad, from Conrad & Sons law firm. I'm afraid I have grave news."

Bruce sat upright and frowned. Caller ID was from somewhere in southern England. Of all places.

"I'm listening."

"I must sadly inform you of the passing of your first cousin twice removed, Magnus Wayne."

Bruce's face froze. 

"He died just last week, at the ripe old age of 89. His will named you as his sole heir."

"There must be an error." His voice was flat and gravelly with shock. 

"That is unlikely. You are Bruce Wayne, son of Thomas and Martha Wayne, correct?"

"Yes." 

"Then you will inherit your uncle's estate in Hershire, as well as a considerable sum of money. As I'm sure you understand, it would greatly speed up the process if you were here in person." Conrad must've interpreted his silence wrongly, because he added after a short pause, "Pension and flight can be provided by our company, as we currently steward your uncle's fortune."

"I.. ah. That won't be neccessary," Bruce forced himself to sound properly saddened, and not as if the revelation that he had had family left after all hit him like a freight train. 

"As you wish. Our company is based in Cypress Hill, which is merely a few minutes from Hershire. If you could meet me here, I would be honored to show you around personally."

Bruce jotted down the address with a shaking hand, glaring at the paper pad as if it had mortally offended him. When the call ended, he put down the speaker and leaned back in his chair with a deeply disturbed expression.

"What's the matter, Sir?" Alfred asked with a concerned tone.

"Turns out I had family in England." Bruce grated out between clenched teeth. Alfred drew in a shocked breath. 

"Had?"

"My first cousin twice removed died last week, leaving everything to me." Bruce swirveled around in his chair and glared at Alfred with a hurt and confused expression, "He knew of me. Yet he never once attempted to make contact."

"There are many explanations." Alfred tried to placate him, but Bruce brushed it aside with an impatient gesture.

"How is this possible? My parents never mentioned family overseas!" Bruce's mood was getting darker and darker.

Alfred shifted uncomfortably. "It's possible they simply lost contact. Or there was some sort of family feud."

"Damn it. I still have to finish the analysis for the next League meeting," Bruce cursed softly in Arabic before he turned back to Alfred. "I'll book the next flight to London. Tell Tim and Cass they're on patrol tonight."

"What about Damian?" Alfred prompted.

"Dick can keep an eye on him while I sort this mess out." Bruce growled and hit some switches. "I should be back in a few days."

"Don't you think it would be wise to take the boy with you? You've hardly spent time together in the past two weeks. He doesn't show it, but I believe he's upset." The butler's voice was calm and polite as ever, but there was a hint of worry in his voice. 

Bruce frowned, but considered him. It was true, business with the JLI and an attack from Poison Ivy had kept him too busy to look after his son. It still felt strange to think of the ill-tempered boy that way. Maybe it would be for the best to keep him close before he could cause more damage. Tim's injuries were barely healed yet. 

"Fine, I'll take him with me. Tell him to meet me in the front hall in twenty minutes."

"Very well, sir."

Above the Atlantic Ocean, 9: 18 pm

"I would rather spend four days fighting hordes of undead than to spend another minute in this wretched plane!" Damian complained loudly. 

Bruce shot his son a quelling glare and steepled his fingers. "This is an unique chance to learn more about my.. our family."

Damian glared at him, bright blue eyes narrowed. He kept his silence then, but his expression was mutinous as he stared out the window. Bruce sighed quietly and wished he hadn't listened to Alfred. The boy had barely adjusted to life in the manor and he was still jumpy. Frankly, Bruce didn't have the time to deal with a murderous boy as well as all his other duties. A smiling blonde stewardess appeared and he slipped effortlessly into his charming Bruce Wayne persona to order a glass of water. Damian's face transformed from the moody brat into the bored son of a millionaire within seconds. The corner of his mouth twitched slightly in approval. Despite his flaws, he had talent.

"What would you like, young mister?" She asked sweetly.

"Green tea, please." Damia replied with a small grin. 

"Here you go. Careful, it's hot," she handed him his cup, purposefully leaning over Bruce's lap.

"Thanks, ma'am." Damian replied politely.

The stewardess winked at Bruce and left the cabin in direction of the toilets. Bruce resisted the urge to roll his eyes and took a sip of water. Damian glared at the cup in his hand.

"What is this swill? I thought we were flying first class?"

"What's wrong with it?"

"This is clearly Zhejiang Long Jing, while it says on the menu that they're serving Shi Feng Long Jing. You should demand your money back.” Damian glared at him in outrage.

Bruce raised a brow at him. “I'll be sure to mention it.”

“You should,” the boy turned abruptly back toward the window.

Bruce rubbed at his temples and hoped the inheritance business would be settled quickly. 

 

Cypress Hill, 10 am. 

Edmund Conrad, called Ed, shifted nervously and shot a glance at his watch. Wayne had called him the day before to say that he'd be there the next day. He stood in front of his office doors, gazing out over the quaint little village. A few people walking past smiled and waved in acknowledgement. Ed waved back with a slightly foced smile. He knew almost everybody since he'd grown up here. As a rational and sensible man, he knew he shouldn't believe in the old tales of the looming mansion not ten miles west, perched on a small hill and surrounded by dark woods. Yet it was hard to suppress the chills that ran down his spine at the thought of visiting Hershire and the old Manor. Magnus Wayne had been a hermit, and an unfriendly one at that. Whenever conversations turned to him, people usually got this wary look and automatically started talking in whispers. Edgar couldn't imagine what the young Wayne was going to be like, but he'd have his answers soon enough. A sleek black taxi rolled up the main street and stopped in front of him. 

"Good morning, Mr. Conrad." Wayne smiled brilliantly after he'd climbed out, showing rows of perfect white teeth.

Ed kicked himself mentally and smiled belatedly, shaking the tall man's manicured hand.

"Good morning, Mr. Wayne. My condolences for your loss." Ed's eyes landed on the small boy that looked like a miniature version of Wayne. "And who is this young lad?"

"This is my son, Damian." Wayne put his hand on the boy's shoulder. The kid grinned brilliantly and straightened a bit.

Ed couldn't help but shoot amazed glances at the two of them while they rode towards Hershire. Wayne looked like a movie star, empty but brilliant. His son was much the same. It had to be an American thing. Ed had been amazed to learn that the only remaining Wayne lived in the colonies, of all places. By the looks of it, he did very well for himself, too. He almost felt embarrassed by his assumptions that he was too poor to come. 

"So, Mr. Conrad," Wayne began when the street began to lead them higher and the surrounding are grew slightly darker, "I must confess, I've had no contact with my cousin. What was he like?"

"Oh Mr. Wayne, I'm not surprised to hear that." Ed began wryly, "He was a rather.. solitary man. The only comapny he had was his groundskeeper, one Adrian Amris. Amris has worked in Hershire for over forty years, and he often came to town to make purchases. He was the one who found him, too."

Wayne nodded with a distant look in his eyes. Ed glanced out the windows, at the thickening woods around them and the shadows the trees cast on the road. 

"Everyone thought he was the last Wayne, after his son died all those years ago."

"What?" Wayne looked at him with a sharp glance that dulled quickly. "How did his son die?"

"Tragic accident, that was. Some say it broke the old man's heart." Ed sighed, lost in the memories of that terrible day. "His son, Dennis was his name, fell out of a third story window after a night of drinking. Gave the maids a mighty scare. The same day, Wayne dismissed the whole staff except Amris. That was.. some forty years ago, now. After that, he would see no one and rarely left the manor."

Wayne looked thoughtful while his son listened curiously. Ed forced himself to smile.

"Ah, but that's all in the past. Don't let it trouble you, lad."

"I won't." Damian smiled and looked out of the window. 

Ed's brow twitched at the ease with which he shrugged off all his talk. Strange kid, he thought. 

"Ah, here is the gate now," Ed pointed at the dark metal gate looming in front of them. 

The road curved to the right, but the woods blocked all view of what lay beyond. A grey haired man wearing a brown sweater under faded blue overalls and rubber boots greeted them when they left the car. He eyed Wayne with a critical gaze and then glanced at Damian with the same expression, which became bordering on hostile when he flashed him a grin as well.

"So you're the big fancy American Waynes, eh?" He sneered finally and scratched his neck. 

"Mr. Amris, this is Bruce Wayne and his son, Damian. They're here for a tour of the grounds." Ed stated politely and cast an imploring look at the other man. 

"Pleased to meet you," Wayne smiled charmingly and held out his hand. 

"And here come the vultures," Amris snorted and turned around abruptly. 

He pulled out a ring with various keys attached to it and unlocked the heavy gates. Wayne blinked and retracted his hand. Ed shot him an apologetic look. The groundskeeper had apparently parked a small cabbie mobile behind the gates and to the side of the road. He climbed on the rusted vehicle and literally kicked it to life. The motor groaned in protest, but soon he was chugging up the road.

"I ah, apologize, Mr. Wayne. Adrian can be a bit.."

"Difficult?" Damian suggested.

The older Wayne shot his son a reproachful stare. "I'm sure Mr. Amris has been through a lot."

The younger Wayne huffed and looked away Ed coughed politely and gestured towards the car. 

"Gentlemen, if you would allow me.."

"Of course," Wayne flashed his brilliant smile again and Ed sort of wanted to punch him. 

The trip up to the manor took them six minutes, during which Wayne prattled on about his business back in the States. Ed listened with only half an ear, because he hadn't been here in over a decade. Amris had been doing a poor job of keeping the grounds clean. There were several bumps in the road and many low hanging branches he had to dodge. It was almost like the very grounds were designed to keep visitors out. Knowing old Wayne, Ed thought wryly, it was probably deliberate. 

Finally, there she was. Hershire, ancestral home of the Waynes. Built like a fortress and painted in faded white. Cracks and peeling paint gave her a proper haunted mansion look. Some of the upper windows had even been nailed shut. Several small turret windows glinted in the faint morning sun. A few shingles were missing from the roof. Ed marveled at the absurdness. She was nothing like in his memories. But even neglected, she was a magnificent sight. Suddenly, he was reminded of his own grandmother on her deathbed. She'd been a grey haired, grey faced woman with frown lines as deep as craters. But even as she was drawing her last breaths, she emnated a stern, matronly aura that commanded everyone's respect. Hershire was just like that. 

"She's magnificent," Wayne breathed from the passenger seat, his eyes riveted on the manor. 

"You should've seen her in her best years." Ed smiled at the awed expression on the younger man's face. "Some say it was the first house in this neck of the woods. Built by an old Lord, some centuries ago."

"Fascinating," droned the boy, "Hey, I think Mr. Amris is going to devour us if we don't hurry."

Wayne shot him a dark glare, which he ignored in favor of climbing out the backseat. Ed would've laughed, but the looming mansion seemed to glare down at the intruders, and he didn't much feel like getting cursed. In the direct presence of the old manor, it wasn't difficult to believe in superstition. A shiver ran down his spine, but he somehow managed to drag a smile on his face. Soon enough, he'd leave and never come back if he could help it. However did Amris manage to sleep here? The place was already unnerving in the weak morning light. As they walked towards the looming main entrace, Amris did indeed look rather annoyed. 

"What took you so long?" He barked and jangled the bundle of keys in his hand, "I'm riding a fossil of a car and managed to go faster!"

"Now now, Mr. Amris, we're not all as familar with the grounds." Ed put as much joviality in his words as he could. Amris snorted and gave him a penetrating glare that made him shiver. 

"Get in then, I don't have all day. There are weeds that need pulling," Amris cackled a bit to himself and unlocked the dark wooden double doors. 

The two Waynes shared a look and Ed sighed internally. Adrian Amris had never been the friendliest fellow, but this kind of hostility was new. Maybe he was just afraid of losing his home, Ed tried to reason. The great doors swung open with pitiful creaks and revealed a grand entrance hall. Wayne and son stepped inside, followed by Ed. Amris stood to the side, beneath a dusty portrait of a stern faced man with flowing black hair. In fact, everything was dusty. The floors, the heavy gold framed portraits on the walls and even the stairs which wound upstairs in a wide arch. 

"Now Amris," Ed smiled a bit nervously, "Why don't you show the Waynes around while I look for the offical documents in the library?"

"Bah! A real Wayne ought to know the place!" Amris barked with a gleam in his eye. His challenging gaze was focused on the older Wayne, who looked a bit nonplussed.

"As I haven't been here before, I don't see-"

"Follow me," the groundskeeper hissed and stomped up the stairs, which creaked under his feet and sent small clouds of dust in the air. 

"Crazy old fool," Damian muttered under his breath. 

The older Wayne shook his head and made to follow Amris. Damian glared at his back and jogged a bit to catch up. Ed watched them go and slowly made his way to a set of dark brown doors to the left. All by himself, a sickening feeling of dread began to churn in his gut and he cursed mentally. There was nothing to fear, he told himself sternly. Nothing at all. It's just an old house. The tarnished brass handles turned heavily and then he entered the dark library. 

"Mr. Amris, could you slow down a bit?" Bruce kept his voice light and jovial, despite the feeling of alarm and unease he'd felt since he entered the grounds. 

The old groundskeeper stalked down the hallway in front of them, long grey hair fluttering a bit from his erratic movements.

"Not so loud!" He hissed over his shoulder, "Noisy noisy Waynes. Always stirring graves, always waking.. Poor poor darling.."

"Father," Damian murmured besides him, "That man is clearly insane. I suggest we tread carfully."

"We play along for now," Bruce murmured back.

"Soon, soon." Armis let out another manic cackle, before he abruptly straightened up and pushed back his shoulders. "Ah. Let us begin the tour with the master bedroom."

A genteel smile appeared on his face, belying the hetful sparkle in his eyes. Stiff as any butler, he gestured towards a plain door. 

"Open it," Bruce's smile was tense. 

"As you wish, Master Wayne." He pushed the doorhandle.

The master bedroom was big and comfortable looking. Dark wooden furniture carved with elegant patterns lined the walls. In the centre of the room was a big canopy bed with crimson covers bearing a crest. Bruce nodded in approval but made no attempt to move inside. Amris smiled benevolently and closed the door again.

"I'm sure you noticed the crest on the covers. It is the sigil of house Wayne, established ca. 1438 by Lord Alonysus Wayne." Amris recounted dutifully, bobbing his head. "Lord Wayne came from old French nobility and moved to England during the one hundred years war, having deserted the French army."

"How do you know all of this?" Damian asked, suspicion lacing his voice.

"I know all about the Waynes." Amris's smile suddenly turned sinister as his penetrating, bright gaze fixed on the boy. "All their dirty little secrets. All the history. Haw!"

With that, his posture slipped back into a slouch and he stalked back down the corridor. Throwing open doors left and right, he cackled loudly.

"Here we have the guestrooms! Left and right, all the same. Here and gone, never to return!"

"How long are we supposed to bear the ranting of this madman?" Damian hissed impatiently as they tried to keep up, "I tire of him."

"I want to see the rest of the house." Bruce said stubbornly. 

Amris stopped in front of the last door in the corridor, right next to the stairs. His expression turned sad briefly.

"This was the room of Lady Ellaria Wayne." Was all he said, before he stalked down the stairs.

Bruce glanced at the door. Birds and leaves were carved into the wood. He shrugged and turned to follow Amris. Damian paused and turned the handle quickly. It opened without sound, to his surprise. The inside of the room was dark save for the few rays of light that came through the wooden boards barring thw windos. The furniture was covered with white linens and the sheer amount of dusk spoke of decades of disuse. A melancholy gloom hung in the air. He closed the door again and hurried after his father. Back down in the entrance hall, Mr. Conrad stood with a few folders and maps in his hands. He looked a little pale, but still smiled politely when they returned. 

"How did the tour go?" He asked when they approached. 

"I fear we lost Mr. Amris." Bruce laughed lightly. "Fellow seemed a bit upset with us, to be honest."

"Oh, I wouldn't worry too much." Conrad shrugged vaguely, "Adrian is a sentimental guy. He probably worries you will make him leave and sell the house."

"Not much chance of that, by the looks of it." Damian grimaced at the dust on his Italian shoes.

"Silence, fool!" Amris bust out of a door at the far right of the hall. He looked furious, but quickly masked his emotions when he noticed Conrad. "If the new masters would follow me, I will show you the living room."

Conrad paled a bit further. Bruce noticed his hands were trembling and his pupils wide. 

"Are you alright?" He asked quietly, startling the lawyer.

"Of course." He hastened to say, "Please, finish the tour. I can wait a bit longer."

"Well, lead on then, Mr. Amris." Bruce tried to keep up the carefree billionaire act, but it started straining him.

"Very well." Amris disappeared back into the door and the Waynes followed him warily. 

The living room was a big hall with dark wooden floors and wooden support beams visible in the ceiling. A big fireplace sat empty in the middle of the back wall. The plush velvet sofas looked worn and dusty. A stack of old newspapers sat on the low coffee table. Amris grinned at them from where he hovered next to a huge, menacing looking grandfather clock. It had cast iron claw feet and seemed to be painted black. The hands on the brass dial looked like clawed human hands. It was nearly a head taller than Bruce himself and looked out of place in the comfortable room. The hands were stuck at 11:38. 

"It's nice," Bruce tried to smother the surprise in his voice.

Aamris beamed proudly and carressed the clock's side. When he noticed Damian staring, he quickly retracted his hand and glared. 

"Yes, it's a nice home. Good place for a family." Amris beamed, showing rotten brown teeth. "We are very happy."

"What are you talking about?" Damian demanded with crossed arms. He'd gotten tired of playing along with this idiot. Bruce shot him a warning glare, but he ignored him. 

"Well, there's me." Amris patted his chest, "And my lovely darling girl. But she's resting right now. She's always so tired. So tired. Hasn't spoken to me in a long time. Always tired."

"You have a wife?" Bruce asked mildly.

"No!" The groundskeeper hissed with a snarl, sudden violent anger sparking in his almost black eyes. "Master would not let me marry her. But he's dead and we're together now!"

"You don't seem very sad about his death? Haven't you served him for forty years?" Bruce inquired, still using the mild tone of voice.

The groundskeeper twitched oddly and ran a hand over his face. When he was done he smiled serenly again. 

"Master Magnus was a great man. Very brave, very strong. Not like his pig-headed son, oh no. Dennis, the pig head. Oink," he let out a burbling laugh before he caught himself. "He was my hero, oh yes. But he was a mortal man, and he got old. And all men must die some day."

Bruce noticed he'd started stroking the clock again. He always brushed a certain spot, the middle of a carved wooden flower. Before the groundskeeper could notice, he averted his eyes and smiled brightly at Damian, who quirked an eyebrow at him. 

"Damian, son, why don't you go check on Mr. Conrad? He seemed to need help carrying those papers."

"W- alright." Damian caught on rather quickly, he noted pleased. Amris was muttering to himself, staring lovingly at the clock. Bruce mouthed 'Distraction' and grinned brightly at Amris. 

Damian shrugged before he shambled out of the room. Amris watched him go with something akin to... was that jealousy in his eyes? 

"So, Mr. Amris, how did my cousing come about hiring you?" Bruce asked and put his hands in his pockets to appear as harmless as possible. 

"Magnus hired me when I was thirteen." Amris rasped, "I'd lost my father the year before. He was all I had. Magnus took me in, trained me. I fought alongside him, for a while. The neverending battle, he called it. When I was twenty one he made me groundskeeper, so I'd stay under his thumb. Called me 'impervious, hot-headed fool'. Bah!" 

"Trained you for what?" Bruce tried to sound oblivious.

"To be his sidekick! That old man was once the infamous Master Excorcist, the one who hunted monsters and criminals alike! And I, his trusty companion the Silver Bullet! Ha, those were the times!" Amris's gaze was far away, he'd unconsciously drawn himself up in a proud, straight position. "It all started when a werewolf ripped Lady Ellaria apart. He swore revenge and hunted the creatures of the night relentlessly. There were so many of those, back in the day. I adored him. He took care of his son and me, led a household, fought monsters at night and managed to keep it all together. There was none better than Lord Magnus."

Bruce kept a straight face, but his mind was racing. The similarities were frightning. 

"One day, he took me to.." Amris looked at the floor with wide eyes, "He showed me what he called his 'ace in the sleeve'. I met the most beautiful creature I'd ever laid eyes on. He raised her and made her stay in the house. She was always so brave and kind. I knew the moment I saw her she had to be mine. I asked, but she said.. She said. Oh, I cannot repeat it. She preferred pig-head Dennis."

"You won her over in the end, didn't you?" Bruce asked softly, but Amris looked sad. 

"Master Magnus put her to sleep before I could. She will not rise when I ask. She will not rise for me. But now that you're here.." Amris' mouth closed abruptly.

A dangerous sparkle lit his eyes. Bruce studied him. There was nothing but manic drive in those eyes. No empathy, no compassion, just greed. He suppressed a shudder, because his eyes reminded him of those in Arkham. This mysterious woman he kept babbling about, the ace in the sleeve, was a puzzle he intended to solve. A loud crash in the entrance hall jolted Amris from his ranting. His face twisted in animalistic rage. 

"SILENCE!" He roared and sprinted towards the entrance hall, faster than Bruce anticipated. 

As soon as he was gone, Bruce stalked over to the clock and inspected the flower. The centre of the carving was slightly lighter than the rest, which suggested it had been touched frequently. He chanced a look at the door and pressed it. With a deep grinding noise, the clock slid to the side, revealing a dark tunnel leading downstairs. Bruce whistled quietly and drew a mini-flashlight from his pocket. It was an impressive set of worn stone stairs, not unlike those at his own home. 

"I think I lost him for a minute," Damian announced as he appeared by his side.

Bruce shot him an appreciative glance, which made the boy straighten proudly. "Good work. Let's go."

Bruce went first and Damian followed him closely. The clock slid back into place behind them without prompting. As if triggered, the candle sconces placed in intervals along the stone walls flickered to life. The air grew colder and damper the further down they went, until a fine mist seemed to swirvel along the stairs. Bruce felt very much like he was descending into the underworld. There were many more stairs than in the mansion in Gotham. 

"Built in 1438," he murmured thoughtfully.

"I do not like this," Damian muttered angrily behind him. "It could be leading to an ambush."

"I'm sure we can handle an old madman," Bruce replied.

"There was something off about him," Damian insisted.

"There is something off about this whole place."

At last, they arrived before a set of metal double doors, darkened by age. Its rough surface was decorated with a few strange symbols, some of which Bruce identified as runes. 

"Is that a bat?" Damian pointed at the centre of the doors.

Bruce narrowed his eyes at the rough symbol. "Could be. Get ready, I'm opening it."

He put his hand flat on the metal and pushed. Surprisingly, it opened without resistance, swinging inward and revealing a large cavern. Musty, stale air assaulted his nose when he stepped lightly into the vast dark space. A quick look around revealed several stone sarcophagi lined along the walls, and he realized they'd entered a crypt. On the far back wall stood a single black coffin which looked much newer than the others, since it seeemed to be made of wood. The torches on the walls ignited automatically again. 

"The torches have little lightbulbs at their tips," Damian announced after he'd inspected one. 

"Hn. Not so magical after all." Bruce grunted and made his way toward the wooden coffin. 

On closer inspection, it did look to be quite old. Some of the paint was peeling. Bruce walked around it and inspected it closely.

"The hinges are too shiny," he muttered, "They look well-used. Someone's been opening this thing regularly."

"That's sick," Damian said with repulsion in his voice. "I bet it was that old freak."

"We need to se what's in there," Bruce stated.

"Do we?" Damian asked.

"It doesn't need to be a body. Maybe he's storing drugs in it." 

Damian still looked dubious, but shrugged. Bruce put his hands on the wood and pulled the lid up with one smooth motion. There were no drugs in there. Only a small, mummified corpse wearing a nearly moth-eaten white dress. Repulsion and horror curled his stomach. The corpse looked like that of a young kid around Damian's age. 

"Damn him." Bruce hissed through clenched teeth and balled his fists to hide their shaking. 

Footsteps were coming down the stairs. Bruce spun around while Damian let out a quiet curse. Neither of them had thought to bring a weapon. Bruce's spare suit was in his bag, in Conrad's car. Aamris appeared at the bottom of the stairs with eyes glittering madly and a manic grin splitting his face.

"Isn't she beautiful?" He crooned adoringly.

"You sick bastard! That's a child's corpse!" Bruce bellowed furiously.

"Yes yes, the Pale Princess. She was the old man's second sidekick. We had a lot of fun together."

"You killed her!" Damian hissed.

"I did not!" Amris roared, spittle flying from his mouth, "Magnus put her here! He buried her alive!"

"I don't believe you." Bruce growled, subtly shifting his stance into a defensive position. 

"I don't need you to believe me, I need you to wake her up!" Amris' voice too on a desperate edge, "When that old fool died I thought she'd be lost forever, but then you arrived! You've got Wayne blood, which is the only thing that can waken her!"

"You're clearly insane."

"Do it. DO IT! I've waited long enough! Forty years!" He bellowed.

"I can't wake the dead. It's impossible." Bruce growled and inched to the left.

"Either you wake her up or I'll shoot the both of you," Amris snarled and drew a gun from one of his pockets. 

Bruce's face froze while Damian let out an angry breath. "If we both die you won't wake her up, ever. Just give it up, you fool."

"You're right," Amris replied coldly, "I don't need both of you."

"No!" Bruce yelled and shoved Damian to the side when Amris aimed the weapon at him.

The stone walls of the cavern echoed the sharp crack of the gunshot tenfold. Bruce felt agonizing pain flare up his left arm where his shoulder had been shot. Blood splattered on the wall and all over the coffin. He stumbled back a few steps and clutched his wounded arm. Damian stared up at him with a carefully blank face, but his eyes were wide with alarm. 

"You got lucky. Next time I won't miss." Amris aimed carefully at Bruce, face stretched into a grotesque grin.

A horrible, wet sound drew their attention to the coffin. Bruce's eyes widened in alarm. Some of his blood had splattered over the child's corpse, which was now.. no longer a corpse, but really rather alive. 

"It.. it worked!" Amris' gun clattered to the floor as he hastened towards the coffin and dropped down besides the girl, reaching for her, "Beloved! You return! It's me, Adrian! We can be together now, we can-"

The girl dragged in a deep breath before her eyes snapped open, blazing with fury. "You!" She snarled, "You dare!"

"Yes!" Amris reached for her, "I-"

One pale hand shot out and grabbed him by the throat. Amris let out a surprised gurgle and struggled weakly. The girl pulled him in until she was face to face with him. Her pale blue eyes seemed to almost glow with anger.

"You traitorous snake. Don't think I've forgotten how you murdered Dennis! You think to claim me? Never! Your filthy blood stinks of treachery. I will not have it. Not a single drop!"

Bruce shifted slightly, causing her eyes to snap towards him. A fierce grin appeared on her face.

"Master Wayne." She said simply. Amris' expression turned desolate and he stopped struggling abruptly. 

"I need an order." She stated calmly, not easing her grip on Amris' throat. "Give me the order, and I shall crush him like the worm he is."

"Put him down!" Bruce ground out, feeling the blood soak through his shirt.

"Put him down?" She looked bewildred for a moment, "Put him down? Surely you are kidding, master! Criminals must be punished."

"We don't get to make that call." Bruce glared at her, "He'll be handed over to the authorities, if what you say is true."

She stared at him, her penetrating gaze seemed to search his very soul. Bruce gritted his teeth and didn't look away. When Amris' face turned blue and he passed out, she tossed him to the floor and stood up. Her dress hung limply from her small frame, but the red splotches had disappeared somehow. 

"Woe is me, for I'm forced to serve once more. And a coward, no less." She mused, looking him up and down.

"My father is no coward," Damian took a step towards her, glaring fuirously. "You have no right to judge, monster!"

Her crystalline eyes turned to the boy, turning thoughtful for a moment. "I'll just have to take your word for it, young Master."

"What's your name?" Bruce asked abruptly. 

"I suppose you can call me Tess." She tilted her head to the side. Her gaze seemed riveted by the blood seeping into his clothes. 

"You are a vampire." Damian glared at her. "You called both of us master."

"I serve the Wayne line until the last of them dies." Her face was proud, "I once swore an oath to protect you and I will keep it."

"So why were you locked up down here? And why'd you say he," he nodded at Amris' unconscious form, "killed Dennis Wayne?"

"I... I failed Magnus." A deep pain flashed through her eyes, "He trusted me and I failed him. You see, it was the story of Cain and Abel all over again. Magnus raised Adrian like his own son, but he was always jealous and resentful of Dennis. It only got worse when Magnus introduced them to me."

"So Adrian killed Dennis because of his love for you."

"Yes. And I was powerless to stop him because I was away on a mission." Tess grimaced, "I had failed my Master on an existancial level. He withdrew from the world, but didn't punish Adrian. I suppose he didn't want to lose another son. Having to watch that murderer walk free and knowing Magnus would never let me kill him, I requested he put me here."

"I thought all undead were mindless beasts," Damian crossed his arms and shot a glance at his father.

"Hn." She grinned and stepped out of the coffin, "Do I seem mindless to you?"

Damian glared at her and shifted subtly. She arched a delicate eyebrow at him and abruptly went down on one knee before Bruce, staring intently at his face. 

"Master, you've lost a lot of blood. We need to get you medical attention." She said, mild worry lacing her voice. 

"I'll be fine." Bruce grunted and stood up, feeling slightly lightheaded, "We need to get that guy to the police."

Amris still lay facedown on the floor, apparently passed out. A glint of steel entered the girls eyes as she rose and looked at him. "Allow me to take care of him."

"You will not kill him. That's an order." He growled. 

"As you wish," she hissed and stalked over to the man's fallen form, her thredbare gown swishing about her bare ankles.


End file.
